Pirate Jenny
by lazuli-rain
Summary: Jennifer is working as a cleaning girl in a tavern in Tortuga when she's kidnapped to be sold into slavery. Then who should take over the ship but our beloved Captain Sparrow... PLZ R&R and tell me if i should continue!
1. Kidnapped

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Or the song below, except I changed the words slightly from "Black Freighter" to "Black Pearl." :-p  
  
You people can watch while I'm scrubbing these floors  
  
And I'm scrubbin' the floors while you're gawking  
  
Maybe once ya tip me and it makes ya feel swell  
  
In this crummy old town  
  
In this crummy old hotel  
  
But you'll never guess to who you're talkin'.  
  
No. You'll never guess to who you're talkin'.  
  
Then one night there's a scream in the night  
  
And you'll wonder who could that have been  
  
And you see me kinda grinnin' while I'm scrubbin'  
  
And you say, "What's she got to grin?"  
  
I'll tell you.  
  
There's a ship  
  
The Black Pearl  
  
with a skull on its masthead  
  
A-coming in...  
  
There's a ship  
  
The Black Pearl  
  
turns around in the harbor  
  
shootin' guns from her bow  
  
Jennifer, a young woman of about eighteen (although no one knew for sure, least of all herself) sang softly to herself as she swished soapy water over the rough pine floor of the Tortuga tavern. She tried not to think about what she was cleaning up—the customers last night had been, as always, hopelessly drunk, and they weren't shy about expelling some of the excess in their stomachs onto the ground. She hummed the song a little louder to keep her mind occupied. She'd always liked it, ever since she was a girl, because the mythical pirate-woman shared her name. Now they even shared the same occupation: Floor-Scrubber. And the Pirate Jenny was so strong, so resilient... everything Jennifer respected and aspired to someday become. Jennifer took fierce pride in her independence. And someday... like the song... she'd look out to sea...  
  
A small bell clanged rather non-melodically, and she started up to see none other than the proprietor himself striding in through the door with several of his friends. "Gin and tonic all around!" he roared, unnecessarily loud as always. Jenny rolled her eyes privately and went back to her scrubbing.  
  
After a minute she became aware of a man watching her, one of the two who had come in with the proprietor. He was handsomely attired, but his voice was unpleasantly oily.  
  
"Working hard there?"  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
"I asked you a question," he said, and there was a definite threat in his undertone.  
  
"Yes sir," she said quietly. She may be proud, but she wasn't stupid, and she didn't go looking for fights. She shifted to start scrubbing facing another direction.  
  
"How about a tip then," came the voice again. She turned her head, and saw him holding a single copper penny between his thumb and forefinger. She seethed at him for mocking her poverty, but she didn't dare refuse it. But when she got up to take it, he didn't hand it to her.  
  
"You know, it occurs to me," he drawled softly, "that I should ask for a little bit more for my money than a clean floor."  
  
"I'm afraid I have no other services to offer, Mr...?"  
  
"Buchanan."  
  
"Buchanan," she repeated.  
  
"But I really think you do," he said softly, drawing a few steps closer to her.  
  
She matched him step for step, going backward. "I'm quite sure that I don't. And I don't need your money, thank you, Mr. Buchanan." She glanced over desperately to where Tom was making the drinks, and the proprietor and his other friend were looking over with interest. Tom looked at her apologetically, but she knew very well that neither of them could do anything. This was the proprietor's friend. That meant he was basically royalty in this tavern.  
  
Buchanan caught her wrist and yanked her back to him, so she stumbled and fell against him. "That's better," he murmured, and with his other hand he reached up and stroked her hair, traced the contours of her cheek with his thumb. He stank, not of alcohol, but of something else, something even fouler.  
  
She struggled and tried to get away, but he encircled her waist with his arms. "Kiss me, darling," he said, thrusting his face into hers.  
  
She got her arms free and began pounding ineffectually on his shoulders. He laughed, whispering, "Don't resist me." Finally she stomped heavily on the instep of his right foot, more than half by accident. Surprised, he let go of her and stumbled back a few steps, limping. She knew this was her opportunity, and she dashed past him toward the exit, but one of the two men were waiting to intercept her course. They seized her bodily and flung her to the ground, where she landed hard on her hands and knees. The two men grabbed hold of her and forced her onto her back. She was a strong woman, but not strong enough to take two grown men at once. Buchanan was recovered by this time, walking toward her, glowering.  
  
"I gave you the chance to take the easy way, darling," he spat at her, still obviously favoring his right foot as he walked. "But you wanted the hard way, and you'll get the hard way." He stood over her for a moment; then suddenly, without warning, he delivered a swift and sharp kick into her side. She doubled over, gasping with pain.  
  
"Here! Leave her—" she heard Tom begin to say, rushing toward her. One of the men left and, out of sight, she heard some chairs fall over, a punch being delivered, then two, then three, and then the struggle stopped. Quite calmly, the man walked back over and rejoined his two companions, dispelling any hope she'd had that Tom had been giving rather than receiving the blows.  
  
"What do you say now?" Buchanan said, smiling viciously at her pain, pacing around slowly to her other side. "Think you want to come with me now?"  
  
Jennifer was nothing if she wasn't stubborn. And since they were the ones asking for a fight now, they would get one. "I'd rather die," she shot back.  
  
The smile faded from Buchanan's face. "Oh, that can be arranged." She heard the click of a pistol being cocked, and looking up, saw the dead black barrel staring at her, point-blank. She felt her heart catch in her throat. She hadn't meant it. She wanted to live, more than anything, she wanted to...  
  
The next moment she felt a stab of pain in her right side. But he had only kicked her, again. She rolled on the filthy floor, trying to ease the pain and nausea, trying to find a direction in which she could roll to safety. But the three men had her in a tight triangle.  
  
"But that would be too easy," said Buchanan. He reached a hand down to her and yanked her roughly to her feet. Her sides throbbed where his heavy shoes had dug into them. She'd have vicious bruises tomorrow—hopefully, because the only alternative was not to be alive.  
  
The proprietor of the tavern took hold of her upper arm, above her elbow, where his fingers dug black-and-blue points into the flesh. The second friend did the same to her other arm. She looked helplessly at Buchanan. She was afraid now, more afraid than she had ever been, even when she had first come to Tortuga lost and alone and without work...  
  
"What do you want with me?" she whispered. She was not going to cry. She was not going to cry before these three cruel, twisted, disgusting men.  
  
They laughed mirthlessly. "We want you, darling," the proprietor whispered in her ear from behind, but loud enough so the others could hear. "I told them you made a fine specimen of a woman. Once you're tamed, we'll get a good price for you." He gave the other two men wicked smiles back and forth. "And the taming's the best part, isn't it, men?" They gave their assent readily with low cheers. Jennifer cast her eyes about in panic. She'd heard of girls being kidnapped and sold into slavery, where the slave dealers used them worse than even the perverts who bought them. But it could not be happening to her.  
  
"You're—you're the proprietor," she whispered desperately. "You're not a—"  
  
"Come now, you didn't think I made all my money from this miserable little pub, now, did you?" he asked maliciously.  
  
Before he could even expect an answer, she elbowed him hard in the stomach, flailed her arms, wildly, trying to get free. She got about three steps closer to the door before Buchanan grabbed her again. He forced her to face him and then slapped her soundly.  
  
"You'll be a fun one, alright," was all he said, smiling faintly, as if he had done nothing. Then, to preempt further discussion, they marched her out the door. 


	2. The stage is set

The three men half-dragged, half-pushed her down to the docks, taking so many back alleys and winding side roads that even Jen hardly recognized it when they arrived. They were a ways from the more populated area, and here only a single ship floated, small but sturdy-looking, its sails already unfurled. A few more men, crew members presumably, stood mute on the docks looking down at them.  
  
Jen had to try one last time. She could see a few figures in the distance, and she thought she could even discern the red coats of the Royal Navy. She filled her lungs and yelled as loud as she could.  
  
"Help!! Please, someone—!" At once Buchanan had crammed his huge hands over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply, another had grabbed her hands, and the third had delivered a sharp blow to her stomach, forcing all remaining air out of her system. All four of them looked over to where the people stood, but not one of them had even turned their head. Buchanan turned back around at Jen, who was now struggling for breath.  
  
"You do that again, and it'll be the last sound you make. You understand?"  
  
Jen nodded frantically, needing air.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
The world was taking on a reddish tint and her head was reeling. Still he didn't take his hand away.  
  
"I'm going to let you breathe now. Remember: I am the one letting you breathe. From now on, your life depends on me. So you had better please me. Understand?"  
  
She managed to nod again, the red fading into soft black at the edges of her vision. At last the hand was removed from her face, and she drew a long, shuddering, gasping breath. She did not yell again. He took her by the shoulders and they went up the steps to the ship.  
  
Once on board, Buchanan called to a crew member for rope. When it was brought to him, he did not release her shoulders, but jerked his head at his friend, not the proprietor, shorter and fairer with thick fingers and eyebrows that stuck out about an inch from his face. He took the rope and bound her hands securely behind her back. Then Buchanan escorted her unceremoniously down some steps and locked her in the brig. Even though it was broad daylight outside, the brig was in semi-darkness, and the damp bit into her skin. She refused to think about a night alone in the thick pitch- blackness.  
  
As Buchanan's footsteps retreated, she heard the man who had tied her hands meet him and walk with him up the stairs. Straining her ears, she heard the following exchange:  
  
"You're keeping her here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I thought we were going to..."  
  
"We are. Later. She won't be so damned energetic after starving a few days."  
  
"You don't want to break her yourself?"  
  
"Who said I wasn't going—"  
  
The door slammed. Jennifer shuddered and sank down with her back against the cold bars. She examined her bonds; they were well-tied, but Ralph back at the orphanage had taught her how to get out of almost anything. He'd been a pickpocket, always getting into trouble with the police, managing to end up back at the orphanage since he was so small and people thought he was younger than he was. But he was good with his hands, and he'd taught her well. In a few hours, she'd have them off.  
  
Biting her lip, she worked the ropes slowly, first one way, then another, ignoring how they chafed her wrists almost bloody. As she worked, she thought. From what she'd heard, she had a couple of days to get out of here and off this ship before they came for her again. Of course, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't come see her just because they were starving her. In fact, she was fairly sure they'd come back just to jeer.  
  
So this was the reality: she needed to escape, and she had no idea how much time she had.  
She worked at the ropes.  
  
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, weathered hands the color of maple butter resting lightly on the softly shining black wood. He only half-listened to the bustle of sailors behind him, each doing their job, perfectly in sync with each other and with the rollings of the ship. His dark kohl-lined eyes were fixed on the outermost edge of the horizon, just beginning to be tinted with pink as the sun drew closer to it by degrees. The cool sea breeze wafted through his dark hair, setting his captain's hat at a rakish angle. He didn't bother to adjust it. He allowed a soft smile to play around his mouth. He was free.  
  
It hadn't been a week since he had been standing at the gallows, a noose of thick, coarsely braided rope around his neck, gazing half-dreaming into the crowd and wondering if God would really have mercy on his soul. Despite their words, the people of Port Royal certainly weren't going to help him with their prayers.  
  
Now he found himself here, losing himself in the pitchings of the ocean, the light glancing off the tips of the waves, the rich smell of sun and sand and miles of open sky. The Black Pearl was his at last, and the horizon with it. And all the treasure that that entailed, of course.  
  
At that very moment a furl of white like a seagull's wing caught his attention about 75 degrees starboard. On closer examination he realized it was a sail, and the ship it belonged to could well be laden with treasure. His smile widened into a lazy grin, showing a flash of gold in his teeth.  
  
"Anamaria!" he barked, and in a few seconds his First Mate was by his side.  
  
"Aye, Cap'n?" They had known each other more than long enough and well enough that he would allow her to call him Jack, but she kept calling him Captain because she knew how he loved to hear it.  
  
"Feast your eyes on that!" He indicated the sails, slightly larger now, with a lot of magnificent gesturing.  
  
She turned and looked, then looked back at him, his contagious smile beginning to spread to her own face.  
  
"Are we to take her?"  
  
"What say you, Anamaria," he said in a low voice, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the wheel while managing to continue to steer at the same time. "Think she's worth the trouble?"  
  
"With a crew like ours, a ship like ours?" she looked out toward the sails, growing slowly but steadily nearer, her eyebrows raised disparagingly. "I hardly think it will be trouble at all. Not for Captain Jack and the crew of his Black Pearl."  
  
Jack tilted his head and savored the sound of the words "his Black Pearl," rolling it on his tongue like a swallow of rum.  
  
"Well then," he said, almost lazily, grinning at her sidelong.  
  
And with a change of manner so sudden it startled even her, he began rapping out orders at the top of his voice. Sailors working at every part of the ship snapped to attention at the sound of his voice and put their whole being into intercepting the other boat's course, their blood rushing with the excitement of their first raid with their new captain. 


	3. Switch

Wow… I haven't updated in… a long time. Deepest apologies! I just had some time tonight so I thought I'd write a new chapter. Schoolwork is insane, so I can't make any promises about when the next update will come. But thank you so much to all the people that reviewed last time, and I'll be grateful for anyone who keeps reading!

-----

The ropes were off; they lay in a puddle of grimy water in the corner. Jen, with her back propped against the wall, massaged her wrists slowly while she tried to conjure an escape plan from the confused jumble of thoughts racing in her head. When she had had her whole mind focused on one thing—getting her hands free—she'd felt calm and controlled and productive. But now… now, panic began to take hold of her again.

She heard footsteps on the deck above her head, and the hatch opening with the dull thud of wood on wood. She scrambled to hide the rope she'd been bound with, thrusting it and her hands behind her back. It was better that they think she was still vulnerable, powerless; they might let their guard down that way.

Buchanan's oily voice called from down the passageway, before she could see his face in the dim torchlight.

"How's my favorite prisoner?"

She said nothing. She'd never been good at defiant or brave words, at the orphanage with its despotic superintendents, or even in schoolyard fights. Whenever she tried, her tormentors just used her own words to mock her. She'd learned to keep quiet and let her actions speak for her; the element of surprise was an added bonus.

The click of his boots got closer. His smugly handsome face came into view, wearing an insupportable little grin under his nose. He got to the cell and wrapped his hands around the bars, peered through the metal door at her as if she were an animal in a cage.

"Hungry?"

She kept silent.

He laughed a little. "Oh, come. I may have been a little rough earlier, but really all I want to do is give you a little adventure. You haven't eaten for almost a day. Here."

He tossed a piece of hard tack onto the floor of the cell. It looked stale and a strange off-white color on the grimy floor. She moved her foot over and ground it to paste beneath her heel; she was afraid she would let herself eat it otherwise.

Instead of angering him as she'd hoped, it seemed to amuse him to no end. He broke out laughing.

"A feisty one!" he said delightedly, as his chuckles subsided. "We don't get many like you! Oh, we'll have such fun together."

_Come into the cell and say that, you bloody bastard…_ Jen thought, _and we'll see how much fun you have._

As if answering her call, he took a ring of keys from his pocket and began fitting it into the lock. Just at that moment, a distant voice sounded from above; it sounded like it came from the rigging.

"Mister Buchanan, sir! We have a…"

"Not now, Porter!" Buchanan shouted back with a peremptory air. He flashed a grin again and resumed working the lock. It sprang open and he opened the door.

She drew her knees up to her chest and backed against the wall, preparing to jump up in a split second. Buchanan mistook her actions for fear, and smiled more widely as he advanced upon her.

"Now you just relax, m'dear. This will be a splendid adventure, if you'll just…"

The voice rang out from above again. "But Mister Buchanan! Sir! There's—"

"Porter! Not! N—"

As he turned his head to shout, Jenny jumped up and, still holding the rope, looped it once around his neck and yanked hard before he had time to react. He gagged and clawed at the rope; she hadn't had time to knot it, and it came away easily. She was already halfway to the door, which he had fortunately left open, but before she could flee he came upon her from behind.

"You vicious little vixen!" He screamed, enraged. He took her by the shoulders and began trying to drag her back farther into the cell. She held onto the metal frame of the doorway for dear life. His hands moved over hers, and began prying them off of the bars, evidently not caring if he broke all her fingers in the process. She screamed out loud and kicked at him, catching him squarely in the stomach. Suddenly, shots rang out. Not musket shots, but from the ships' cannons. Porter came thundering down the ladder.

"Mister Buchanan! Mister Buchanan, a ship's come upon us, she's firing—" He paused a moment and took in the scene, Jenny obviously in the process of escaping, Buchanan doing all he could to stop her, the door still ajar because Jenny's body was blocking it.

"Hey, you!" he began, starting toward them, but stopped short. Another sailor had jumped down the ladder all at once, without warning, and dealt him a sharp blow on the back of the head. He fell over, unconscious.

"This isn't exactly where you want to be when pirates be boardin' your ship, mate," the new man said wryly to the slumped figure on the ground. Then he paused a moment to take in the struggle. Just as he watched, Jenny won; Buchanan was distracted a moment as he looked up at the new presence, and Jenny, oblivious, took the chance and ran. Buchanan swore loudly and started after her.

"'Ay!" said the sailor in surprise as Jenny came barreling toward him. He caught her by the arm as she ran past, checking her momentum so sharply that she swung around wildly and lost her balance. "Where you off to in such a hurry?" She screamed in sheer frustration as Buchanan once again came upon her. The sailor yanked her behind him and whipped out a pistol. Before Buchanan could say a word, he had been knocked unconscious in exactly the same way as Porter.

"Didn't much like the look of 'im," the man said to Jen with a slight grin. "Didn't know how to treat a lady." His smile faded, and the lines of his face grew serious as he regarded her. "I think you better come with me." One hand still firmly on her arm, he led her up the ladder to the deck. Too surprised to resist, she followed him, wondering whether she'd just been rescued, or simply traded in one group of captors for another.


	4. Who's the Girl?

Yayy, thanks for all the reviews! You guys rock! Here's the next chapterrr (I have so many other things to be doing right now, but writing this story is way more fun)

On deck, a fierce battle was raging. As soon as Jen emerged from the hatch, a sailor nearly fell upon her, stumbling from the force of a blow he had just received to the head. She ducked and clambered the rest of the way onto the deck as best she could while the unnamed pirate was still holding her firmly by the arm. He pulled her sharply to the center of the boat, where the sails and ropes prohibited hand-to-hand combat and the action thinned out.

"Stay here," he ordered, drawing his sword and preparing to engage in the battle. He looked her up and down. "Now I'm trustin' you to stay put. Don't be runnin' off, because there's nowhere to hide, and we'll be less kind to you when we do find you if we've had to hunt you down, you follow me?" She nodded slowly. Then he was lost amid the sea of clanging metal, falling bodies, and groans.

Jen waited and watched, wishing she had a weapon. Not that she would have known how to wield it, but she would have felt less wholly vulnerable. Although, surprisingly, no one seemed to be taking any notice of the young girl standing awkwardly in the center of the ship.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, she felt a hand grip her elbow, and a voice whispered, "Now what are you doing here, lovely?" She whipped around and saw the sneering face of Buchanan's right-hand man. She shrieked and, lacking any combat training, she instinctively kicked out and caught him squarely in the groin. He doubled over and loosened his hold; she ran.

She ran straight into the thick of the battle, where swords whistled dangerously close to her head and sailors and pirates alike kept stepping on her feet. She found a fallen sailor still clutching his blade and took it, hefting it awkwardly into a semblance of a ready position. It was too heavy and the handle was too thick, but she felt a little better. She backed up, trying to get somewhere her back wouldn't be unprotected.

She trod on someone's foot and whirled around sharply, raising her sword in alarm. Another sword blocked it easily, sending shockwaves down her arm, but she gritted her teeth and didn't drop the blade. She found herself staring into a pair of very dark, kohl-rimmed eyes, framed in a well tanned and slightly sweaty face. He was young for a pirate, dressed in extravagant wild colors, and his eyes were flashing with the excitement of battle. He regarded her for a moment a little quizzically. Then, without warning, he swung his sword blade in an arc down and around, forcing her arm down as he freed his own blade and raised it high above his head. Her throat caught in fear, but without a backwards glance he was gone, lost again in the battle.

After only a moment more, the battle appeared to be over. The remaining sailors, as if by unspoken signal, dropped their blades and raised their hands slowly in surrender. The pirates kept their swords alert, but one by one they looked around and fixed their eyes on one man. Jen shrank back into an inconspicuous corner, forgetting what the pirate had told her about staying put.

A man, presumably the captain, strode proudly around the deck, speaking in a ringing voice to Buchanan's men. With a start, Jen realized he was none other than the pirate she had crossed blades with not five minutes ago. He didn't strike her as a captain type, but she began to study him more closely, curious to see a real captain after reading so much about them in storybooks. He wore a large pirate's hat and many layers of ragged, colorful clothes. Beads and other ornaments swung in his dark hair when he turned his head, and his skin was darkened by sun and wind. He had high cheekbones and a slightly angular face, with a straight nose, and a stubbornly set jaw.

"Now, everyone stay calm, this ship—and it's cargo—now belongs to the crew of the Black Pearl." Jen started at the words _Black Pearl, _remembering the song she had used to sing—was it only yesterday? It felt like ages ago.

"You will be locked in the brig until we reach Tortuga," the captain continued. "At which point we will set you free to scratch out a living as best you can—" He stopped in front of a slightly cringing sailor, and spoke into his ear, his hushed tones somehow still audible to everyone on deck "—for the rest of your miserable lives." The sailors glanced at each other unhappily, shifting their weight, but they didn't seem altogether crushed by the news. Jen was indeed surprised at the captain's generosity.

"Now then!" the Captain shouted briskly, resuming his striding around the sailors. "Anamaria! Gibbs! Dutton! Escort the lads to their new lodgings. Snow, sweep the ship for stragglers, if you'd be so kind." The four called sprang into action, Jen noting with shock that one was a woman. The sailors offered no resistance to being herded unceremoniously onto the other ship.

Jen remained in her corner during these proceedings, musing to herself. _The _Black Pearl. She had spent hours at the orphanage listening to the older children telling stories after lights out, speaking in excited whispers so as not to wake the headmistresses. When it came her turn to be one of the older ones, she had becomes famous for spinning tales so wild and enthralling that she'd earned quite a following. More than once her tales had led her listeners to forget the hour and shriek in delight, earning them all beatings and a night without supper. The Black Pearl. The legendary ship and its undefeatable captain… could they really stand before her now?

With a start, she saw that the pirate who had brought her up from the brig had now reemerged. He was standing near the center of the ship where he'd left her, looking about him. He called loudly to his shipmates.

"Where's the girl?"

"What girl?"

"There was a girl, I left her right here, and I bloody _told _the wench—"

Jen shrank a little more into her corner, her heartbeat quickening, unsure of what to do. Now that she'd deliberately defied the pirates' orders, he might be harsh with her.

The rest of the pirates continued to chatter good-naturedly.

"You must be dreaming. No woman here but Anamaria, and that's bad enough, I wager—"

"I heard that, ninny!" came the woman's sharp voice from the other ship, amid hearty laughs.

"A girl?" It was the captain's voice again. Now that he wasn't yelling, it had rather a soft, lazy, velvety quality to it. The rest of the crew quieted down immediately to make room for his voice. Jen wondered what he'd done to win such respect. Or was it fear? Was he cruel?

"Aye, sir."

"Little dark-haired thing with keen eyes?" Jen had never heard herself described thus, and found it pleased her rather more than 'the shrimpy one' or 'the one who can't stop staring.'

"Aye sir, her exactly."

"She's over there," he said carelessly, with a sweep of his arm in her direction.

Jen winced as all eyes turned on her, some hard, some unreadable, most simply wondering.

The man who had found her advanced on her quickly, causing her to dart away in alarm. He grabbed her arm.

"I told ye to Stay. Put." Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. She wondered whether he'd strike her.

"Elliott." The Captain came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Be a gentleman, ay?" But his words seemed to carry a joke. Jen didn't know whether they were at her expense or not. But Elliott released her.

The Captain looked her up and down with his unnervingly dark eyes, then turned to Elliott.

"So then… who's the girl?"


	5. Hold on tight

New chapter! Thanks to everyone who's still reading this, you guys are awesome and amazingly patient. Sorry this chapter is so short, but I'll have another one up soon, I promise.

"I found her belowdecks. Some men seemed to be tryin' to take advantage o' her, if you take my meaning, Cap'n," said Elliott in a low voice. She glared at them. She didn't like being talked about in the third person, like a piece of cargo. Besides, it was better to be angry than frightened.

"Ah." His eyes flashed slightly and he turned to her, his beads swinging. He surveyed her with his head tilted to the side, considering.

"Think you and I ought to have a little chat, ay?" he said. He took her by the arm and gripped her rather tightly, as if he thought she might run off—to where, she hadn't the foggiest idea. She looked up at him wide-eyed, and he smiled down at her—slowly, a smile full of dark secrets. She looked away.

"To the _Pearl!_" he proclaimed to his crew, and immediately they began swinging over the railings and back on board their ship. Gibbs, apparently the First Mate, stayed behind with Jack a moment.

"What are we going to do with this ship, Cap'n? Blow 'er to smithereens?"

"Be a shame to lose her," he said off-handedly, looking around. "Pretty little boat, innit?"

"Aye?" Gibbs looked puzzled.

"Why don't you keep it?" asked Jen suddenly, recklessly sarcastic. She felt doomed anyway; these pirates would never set her free. Nothing she said or did mattered anymore. "Start your own little pirate fleet."

Instead of silencing her, Jack turned to her, bemused, cocky. "And who do you propose should captain her?"

She matched his stare. "I could."

He broke into his smile again. "Tempting as it is—" his expression suddenly changed completely into dead seriousness, as if imparting a great secret, "pirates don't usually travel in fleets." He turned to Gibbs.

"We'll take the ship back to Tortuga and leave 'er for some wanderers who want to make a fortune. A little money on the side wouldn't 'urt. Anamaria!" She turned, having already boarded the _Pearl_. "Come back here and help Gibbs sail behind us to Tortuga. And as for us," he said, turning back to Jen, "I think we should be getting over ourselves."

The plank connecting the boats had already been drawn up, and the only means of crossing it were ropes. Anamaria swung over and landed lightly on her feet, tossing the rope to Jack. Jack passed it to Jen.

"Can you swing?"

She took it determinedly in both hands and climbed to the top of the railing. Then she made the mistake of looking down.

Rippling blue water lapped at the sides of the boat, surprisingly steep and high. She suddenly felt disoriented and began to sway, losing her balance—then she began to panic, picturing herself plunged into endless blue, lost—

A steadying hand caught her around the waist and lifted her easily off the railing and back on deck. Jack Sparrow grinned at her, his head cocked slightly to one side, gold teeth flashing, his kohl-lined eyes a little too self-satisfied.

"Afraid you'll just have to hold on, love."

She tried to be defiant, but she was still too shaken. She drew a shuddering breath.

Jack looked at the petite girl, so obviously frightened to death behind her bravery. He admired her courage. _I should stop fooling with her,_ he thought, a little surprised that he was feeling compassion towards a captive.

"There, arms around me neck," he said, putting an arm around her waist and lifting her off her feet. She did so, reluctantly, hesitantly. At least he wasn't touching her wantonly, showing off his power over her. She noted that he smelled of salt and warm sun and lingering rum, not at all what she had expected.

He hoisted himself onto the railing, so quick and surefooted that she gasped at his sudden movement and involuntarily tightened her hold. He grinned, his face alarmingly close to hers.

"Alright there, love?"

She nodded.

He kicked off powerfully, and for a moment she felt she was flying. A rush of exhilaration, and then it was over. He made firm contact with the deck of the Pearl and set her down, and she realized with a shock that she was still holding to him. She let go quickly, but he gripped her upper arm again.

"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl. I believe you owe me a chat."


End file.
